


A Little Unauthorized Assassination Never Hurt Anyone. Right?

by SpaceCaseWriter13



Category: Discworld - Terry Pratchett
Genre: Canon Compliant, Found Family, GNU Terry Pratchett, Gen, Original Character(s), Post-Canon, Work In Progress, will add more tags as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2019-10-24 13:13:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17704913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpaceCaseWriter13/pseuds/SpaceCaseWriter13
Summary: There's trouble in Ankh Morpork. But when is there not? Student Assassin Sarah-Katherine Ainsley is in over her head, caught between a plot by a shady shadow organization to overthrow the Patrician and just wanting to successfully complete her exams (she honestly just thought this was about going out for a few beers and a laugh). After the unauthorized theft of the Baker's Guild's ledgers, Commander Samuel Vimes is called in by the Patrician to catch the culprits. However, as per speck, there is more to this case than meets the eye, and Vimes will have to dig into his nearly forgotten recent past to piece together the clues of the case.  Will the Commander get to the bottom of this? Will Sarah-Katherine find a way to stop the Patrician's assassination and live long enough to complete her exams? Can the author find a way to stop asking rhetorical questions? Who even knows?





	1. It Always Starts On A Dark and Stormy Night

**Author's Note:**

> The author would like to remind readers that this is a fanfic and that she is in no way profiting from the writing of such.

Rain hammered down over the rooftops of Ankh Morpork, streaming down, over and around the oilcloth cloak of the lone figure standing on the rooftop of the assassin’s guild. It was a black cloak of course, not the cool and stylish black of the most senior and accomplished assassins within the guild, no this was a garment worn for its utility rather than as a fashion statement by the more senior students at the assassin’s school. The grey-black of the cloak almost matched the hue of the clouds churning overhead and dumping water down around them.

Lightning crackled across the sky, striking the Tower of Art at the Unseen University, sending off octarine sparks which only aided in the illumination of the city below it. Even in a thunderstorm, the city continued to hum, unaware of the silent observer watching from their perch. All of this was right and proper: the weather, the lightning, the foreboding boom of thunder that rattled her teeth. How else was she supposed to properly brood? The student assassin looked up and across Windershins Broadway at the Patrician’s palace. The lights in the oblong office had only minutes ago been extinguished, at exactly 11:45, and now the only light illuminated in the building came from the top floor.

_Is he watching us?_ She wondered as midnight began to chime out around the city. _It would only make sense if he were watching them because they were certainly watching him._ She paused and shook her head _I really hope he’s watching us otherwise this could all go Rimward very, very quickly._ Her shoulders sagged with an exaggerated sigh, but her whole body stiffened again at the sound of someone’s approach, or rather the lack of sound. That was a trick that you learned as a young assassin. It wasn’t the sound you made that gave you away, but rather the sounds you didn’t make that would lead to your discovery and ultimately your failure to complete the contract. “You’re late Davie,” She said without turning around.

“No I’m not, the Unseen University bell tower hasn’t finished yet,” answered the hooded figure that came up beside her. The last peals of the bell rolled over Ankh Morpork, and the hooded figure identified as Davie turned to her, “How did you know I was behind you, Kat? I didn’t make any noise.” 

“Therein lies the problem. Have you read over the assignment brief?” She inquired brusquely. 

“Target: Baker’s Guild, Hubward facing wall, third story, fifth window.” He rattled off.

“Bursar’s office safe, collect all the financial records in the lockbox,” concluded Kat.

There was a brief pause, and another crackle of lightning and boom of thunder rumbled around them, rattling the windows and the roof tiles under their feet. Kat turned around to look at the roof of the Baker’s Guild, literally a stone’s throw away. This was risky. Being an assassin meant you took on a certain amount of risk, it came with the job. Only one out of every fourteen student-assassins graduated to full membership in the guild. Risk and the risk of death was literally part of the job description, but this was different. If they somehow botched this job, they wouldn’t have the protection of the guild to rely on as a backup. No. This was an extracurricular activity. And if the guild found out about this, they would handle this as they handled most guild matters of this sort with extreme prejudice and absolute finality. But that would be the least of their worries, if they failed this little audition for the League, anything the guild could do to them would seem merciful by comparison. _A clean job then._ It wasn’t impossible, just very, very delicate.

“I don’t know about you, but this seems a little below us, couldn’t they have sent one of the actual thieves to do the thieving? I mean what’s there to steal from the Baker’s Guild?”

Kat had to stifle a groan, “Might I remind you Mister Bacon, that this was your idea, and I quote’ a good opportunity to branch out from the stifling rigidity of the guild’s structure,” She said sharply.

“Yeah but you agreed to it too.” Davie snapped back.

Kat rolled her eyes and pulled her cloak down around her face further. “Let's go shall we, I don’t think this storm is going to ease up any time soon.” She crouched down and began the slow, calculated maneuver over the roof of the Assassin’s guild. Avoiding trip wires, and faulty tiles, they jumped onto the roof of the teacher’s guild before making their final approach of the Baker’s Guild. _This is really stupid. I mean the assassin’s guild is right there._ They climbed down to the fifth window over on the third story, Davie jimmied the lock, and they both slid through the open window into the office. Davie closed the window behind them, and Kat turned to the interior of the room.

It was little more than a cubicle. Fastidiously organized, every surface was clear, ever paper was filed, there wasn’t even rubbish in the waste bin. While most offices would hold iconographs or personal commendations, the only thing hanging on the wall in the office was a single painting over the desk. To Kat’s general disappointment it wasn’t a painting of bread. Instead, it was your run of the mill, generic art that can be found in waiting rooms, hotels, and hospitals across the multiverse. She smiled. Adjusting her gloves, Kat gently pushed the framed work aside, revealing the significantly less faded wallpaper than that around the painting itself. _‘Generic art, nothing in the way of personal effects, and spotless office.’_ She paused, ‘ _How frequently did the Baker’s Guild elect a new Bursar?’_ Kat squinted into the air straining to remember. ‘ _Damn I should have paid more attention in class.’_

“What, What’s wrong?” Davie whispered frantically, glancing between Kat and the hallway. 

_How has he survived this long?_ She pondered, without answering, kneeling down next to the safe tucked behind the desk. _Ahh yes, a combination lock, wouldn’t want to make it too easy._ She put her hand to the lock and paused. _‘They don’t change anything between bursars, why would they change the combination? And it would have to be something that could be easily remembered. They aren’t idiots who would make the combination 1,2,3,4...’_ She noted the number on the dial, took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. Rain pattered against the windowpanes, and for a few minutes, there was only the sounds of the rain, the thunder, and two people breathing nearly in synch. At length, she removed an oilcan, oiled the hinges of the opening and closing mechanism, and twisted the handle. The safe opened, and the ledger books sat inside all bound in leather. Kat took them out one by one and handed them to Davie who stowed them in his satchel. 

“Before you close it, put this in,” whispered Davie waiving a strip of parchment at her with one hand as he secured his satchel with the other.

She took it and carefully surveyed it. _A receipt from the thieves guild?_ She frowned as she saw the thieves’ guild crest, but placed the parchment in the safe, locked it and returned the dial to its original position. 

Climbing back out onto the roof, they dropped a mint oil bomb and headed Hubward a few blocks, before climbing down, and continuing toward their rendezvous point at The Crow, on Money Trap lane. They linked arms and chatted loudly, with the airs of people who had absolutely nothing to hide, especially not the stolen ledgers in Davie’s book bag. Kat looked up at the sky, the rain splashing against her face, and soaking into her dark hair. 

She breathed in deeply and smiled. Her heart thudded in her chest loudly, the thrill of the contract making her pulse rush. She shouldn’t feel this good. What she had done was wrong, and she knew it, but still, they’d gotten in and out, no one had gotten hurt, after all, they were just ledger books, what harm could come of it? As Davie had said, what was really worth stealing from the Baker’s Guild? But there was the Thieves’ guild receipt. 

At this Kat could feel her stomach begin to twist. She looked back down toward the road in front of her just in time to see the front stoop of the Thimble Pipe and Tobacco Shop. The blood seeped from her face, and she could feel her stomach drop out from underneath her, it was like thinking there was one more step, that moment of expectation before your foot continues to through the air. She sucked in a quick breath, inhaled her own spit and began to cough. 

“You alright there Kat?”

“Fine, I’m fine. Choking on my own spit, bloody hell.” She tried to laugh, but it came out as a choked sob. 

Luckily they came to The Crow before Davie could push the issue further and they entered the crowded and noisy bar. “Take the bag, usual table, I’ll get us some drinks!” Davie shouted over the din, handing Kat the satchel, he disappeared toward the bar.

Kat wound her way through the pub, pushing back her hood, and unclasping the front of her cloak. She sunk down in a both and put her feet up on the bench across from her holding the satchel on her lap. From her perch, she could see all the entrances and exits and mentally mapped out how best make a speedy exit.

“May I join you?” Kat looked up into the jaunty face of George Illabacker. Five year’s Kat’s senior George had been blessed with thick curly chestnut hair, proportional features, a pleasant looking mouth, and striking green eyes. He was at first glance, swoon worthy, and many young ladies (Kat included) could admit to admiring the man from afar in their younger, more impressionable years. Unfortunately for George, or rather those who interacted with him, while he was gifted with good looks and charm, he lacked empathy, manners, and basic human decency. Even for an assassin, he was a piece of work, and that was certainly saying something. After he’d graduated he’d taken on contracts with the guild here and there, but generally worked with their most gracious benefactor, who sent him on little errands like this.

“George,” She nodded curtly, removing her feet from the bench across from her.

“Little Sarah-Katherine,” George smiled, setting down the pint he slid into the booth next to her trapping her between him and the wall. “Or are they still calling you Kitty Cat?”

“Just Kat,” said Kat flatly, resisting the urge to pull a knife on him. He made her skin crawl, but she enjoyed still having skin, so self-control got the better of her, and her weapons remained stowed.

“Your little friend around? Davie wasn’t it? Where is he off to?” He laughed into his pewter mug as he took a drink.

“Gone to get us drinks, busy night for you Illabacker?” She answered coldly.

“Not at all, Ahh David, how good of you to join us,” George looked up at Davie who had appeared with two pints. “Take a seat, have a drink,” He slapped Davie amicably on the back as the younger man climbed into the bench across from them.

“Good to see you too George.” Davie said through gritted teeth, pushing one of the mugs toward Kat.

“No problems, I trust.” George commented, taking another large drink from his mug.

“Bit rainy out tonight, but otherwise no” Kat shrugged before taking a long draw from her mug.

George watched her carefully, waiting until she’d set the half empty mug back on the table, “And all this time I thought you a gentlewoman Ms. Ainsley,” He smirked.

Kat didn’t look over at him. Instead, she raised an eyebrow and nodded, “In all due respect Illabacker, I really could not care less what you think of me.”

“Oh, come now don’t be that way,” His smirked, putting his arm on the back of the booth, his hand dangling lazily near the back of her head. 

Kat wrapped her hands around the pewter mug. _All it would take is one very forceful blow to the nose with the pewter mug to wipe that smirk of his pretty little face._ She looked over at Davie who was starring into the void; his eyes blank his expression decidedly neutral. _Oh come on, don’t roll over and show your belly to this…this…twat!_

“M-m-may I join you?” A soft voice pierced through the din and all eyes turned to the man standing at the head of the table. Kat relaxed her grip on the mug.

Here was a person who looked as though he would rather be anywhere but where he was. Although not a particularly tall man, to begin with, the speaker stood with the posture of one accustomed to too much reading and writing over a desk by candlelight in some sad, dingy little cell with very little opportunity for fresh air. At present, he appeared to be doing his best impersonation of a coat rack, with the hopes that if he took up as little space as possible, he might disappear entirely and be allowed to return the aforementioned candle lit desk. He glanced around frantically at the three people at the booth as if uncertain he’d approached the correct table. The motion made the dim light of the tavern flickered off his dark skin and made the thick lenses of his spectacles look like a blood moon, obscuring his eyes.

It unsettled Kat. One could tell a lot about a person from his eyes, but they remained glowing, obscured orbs. “Oh, glad to see you could make it!” George announced loudly, breaking the awkward silence the new comer had brought with him. “Please, take a seat.” He waved the new comer into the seat next to Davie. “David, Kat, I’d like you to meet Sampson Ivers, Sammie, these are my friends David Bacon and Sarah-Katherine Ainsley,” George said cheerfully as the newcomer settled into the seat beside Davie. “Can I get you anything? Kat, top off your mug?” He went around the table acting the part of the jovial host. He certainly had a knack for turning up the charm factor, and a person could believe it if they stood back a way and squinted a bit.

“No thank you George,” She answered crisply.

“Oh very well, what about you Davie, care for another pint?”

Davie glanced between Kat and George before shaking his head no. “Alright you two, simmer down,” George leaned back in the booth, returning his hand to rest just behind Kat’s head. “So Sam, how are things with you?” but before Sampson could answer George interjected, “Sam was scholarship boy, fantastic job with edged weapons and locks. You’ve been working with us since graduation, about seven years or so if I’m not mistaken.” 

“Um,” He glanced at Kat and Davie, swallowed hard, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Yes. I’m d-d-do-do-doing w-w-w-well. B-bu-bu-business is go-go-go-good, ve-ve-ery busy.” He stuttered, wringing his hands together. 

_Yes._ Kat realized.  _I do remember Sampson._ He was in the same year as George, so she didn’t remember much except that he was a quiet kid, who always seemed to be at George’s heels. _They’d called him the stuttering shadow, Stuttering Sammie._ She gave him a winning smile, “A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Ivers, I hope George isn’t keeping you too busy.”

“A plea-pleasure to meet you too M-m-m-iss Ainsley. Bu-bu-ut yo-yo-you are m-mis-mistaken G-g-gorge is quite at m-m-m-y di-dis-disposal,” He answered, doing his best to power through his stutter.

“Quite glad to hear it. I must say it is an honor to meet you. You do impeccable work, I’ve read through several of your articles. I thought your work on the ethical implications of using projectiles versus edged weapons was fantastic.” 

She could practically here George, and Davie’s jaws hit the floor. “You’re familiar wi-with m-my-my research?” His surprise eased his stutter slightly.

“I’ll admit it was an accident. I was looking for a different article, but it was a phenomenal discovery,” Kat answered before launching into a series of detailed technical questions. 

At length they finished their beers, Kat’s conversation with Sampson wound down, and George announced loudly that they should conclude their business. The ledgers went to Sampson, Sampson handed over documents to George, and George presented Davie and Kat with separate envelopes. They went out into the night, parting ways at the junction of Money Trap Lane and Old New Lane. 

As Davie and Kat made their way back to the assassin’s guild, Kat could feel Davie stewing beside her. She wasn’t going to play into whatever it was that Davie was up to. They walked in silence, and Kat’s mind was drawn back to their assignment earlier in the evening. They’d stolen ledger books from a guild that was _known_ for their honesty and forthright nature and planted evidence that implicated the Thieves’ Guild. Where would the ledgers go? What would happen when the Baker’s Guild Bursar found the receipt? Her stomach churned. _What did I just do?_ This was bad. Not the act itself, but rather the larger potential consequences. _Idiot, idiot, what have you gotten yourself into?_ She paused as they climbed up the drainpipe of the Assassin’s guild, and looked up at the Patrician’s palace. That one light was still on in the upper floors. It was nearly three in the morning. _Does he ever sleep?_ She wondered continuing up the drainpipe. Clambering onto the roof, she picked the lock to her bedroom window and slid inside without bidding Davie a good night. 

She pulled off her cloak and removed her boots. Sprawling on top of the small twin bed and removed the envelope George had given her from the inside pocket of her waistcoat. She opened it and removed a glossy calling card. It was an invitation to a dinner party and nothing else.

Kat frowned. 

She’d been doing small jobs with Davie for months now. He’d invited her along on one of his first excursions, and by association, she began the probationary period to join the reclusive and exclusive _League of Shadows_. They were bad news. Of course, they were bad news. With a name like the _League of Shadows_ you knew it wasn’t going to be picnics in the park and sewing circles. And you didn’t join an organization like the _League_ for the resume building aspect of the membership.No, the _League_ was planning something, something big, and it wasn’t going to be good for anyone. _I can still get out of this. If I don’t go to the dinner, there is still a chance that they will let me out of this whole thing. I could disappear. I’m good at that. They would never be able to find me._  

Kat knew it was a lie even as her brain twisted the word inside her head. There was no getting out of this. She would have to see this through to the end and find some way to bring this organization down before they caused real harm, or meet her untimely end. _You should go to the Patrician or to Commander Vimes. It's their job to protect the city; they would hear you out!_ A little voice in the back of her head urged her. _No, no, I don’t have any evidence, why would they believe me anyway?_ She shook her head, rolling to an upright position. 

Removing a sketchpad and pencil from under her pillow she flipped to a blank page. Closing her eyes, she brought the face of Sampson Ivers into focus. After a moment of concentration, she opened her eyes again and began drawing. After a while, she paused, looked the drawing over, and nodded. _That’ll do for now._ She flipped through the pages there were drawing of Davie, George, and some others she’d come in contact with who had connections to the League of Shadows. _This isn’t evidence. This is hearsay_. You _need tangible, irrefutable evidence. You need to know who is at the center of all this._ She reminded herself firmly as she closed the sketchpad and placed it in the lockbox under her bed, securing it carefully. It was a double lock with both the outside locking mechanism, as well as defense features for any unsuspecting fool who managed to get the doors open. She didn’t want any curious intruder to know what was she up to.

She pulled off her clothes, threw them on the floor, and tugged the blankets over her. As the clock tolled four, Kat lay awake starring at the ceiling. She would go to the dinner, she would get inducted into the League, but she would find a way to bring them down, and to stop whatever it was they were plotting. You didn’t call yourself _The League of Shadows_ just because. 

_I_ _’m an idiot._ She sighed squeezing her eyes shut. _What have I gotten myself into?_


	2. Someone Better Call the Watch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The author would like to remind readers that this is a fanfic and that she is in no way profiting from the writing of such. All Characters belonging to Terry Pratchett belong to him, I'm just playing with them a bit. However, all characters that are mine are mine. Yanno how it goes.

Ankh Morpork, it had been said was not a particularly beautiful city, or a city with interesting architecture, or even one with particularly great works of art, but it was a city that worked, and it worked because the Patrician of Ankh Morpork, Havelock Vetinari, saw to it that it was so. He had managed it through the devising of the various guilds, and the various competition between one another therein. Organized. Tidy. Orderly. Vetinari was a bastard and yes a tyrant, but the man was patient and cunning, and above all, he was committed to keeping Ankh Morpork running. Politics. It was something that the Patrician excelled in. And over the years Sam Vimes had learned a thing or two about politics and diplomacy, and how to talk nicely so as not to upset anyone. Not that he ever paid much mind to it, but he did _know_ it was a thing other people did.

However, watching the Patrician follow the shouting matching between the head of the Baker’s Guild with the Head of the Thieves guild like a foot the ball match, Samuel Vimes, Duke of Ankh, Commander of the Watch had the gristly feeling in the pit of his stomach that he was about to be thrown right into the center of it. It wasn’t Vetinari’s way to let there be too many spectators to the messy business of politics, and by Vimes’s count, there was already one observer too many.

“Now Gentlemen.” Vetinari began, and the rat’s chamber fell into silence. “Let me get this perfectly clear. The baker’s guild is accusing the Thieves’ guild of unauthorized theft, and the Thieves guild is unable or unwilling to produce materials stolen...what was it again Mr. Bran?” Vetinari turned to the head of the baker’s guild a great hulk of a man with massive hands, a huge handlebar mustache, and heavily tattooed forearms. 

“Our ledgers. All of them, going back to the founding of the guild. And our charter! The thieves guild has stolen it and-”

“Yes. Yes. I quite understand your position, Mr. Bran.” Vetinari cut him off. Turning to Mr. Boggis head of the guild of Thieves.“And you are unable at this present time to produce either the stolen materials or the miscreant responsible a Mr. Henri Mallard wasn’t it?” 

“We are unable at this time to locate either Mr. Mallard or the property allegedly stolen from the Guild of Bakers,” Boggis said shortly in a painfully typical non-answer answer.

“Allegedly? He left a damn receipt you slimy bast-”

“As I was saying.” Vetinari continued pleasantly. “As you are unable to resolve this amongst yourselves, it is in the best interest of both parties and dare I say the city at large that a third, impartial, party be brought in to find an agreeable resolution to this current predicament.” 

_You Bastard._ Vimes groaned internally as all eyes in the rats' chamber turned to him. This was guild business. By its very nature, it was not something that the watch was allowed to handle. The Guilds took care of their own affairs, in-fact it was written into their charters. They took care of their own, which is why it would not surprise Vimes in the least if the aforementioned Mr. Mallard was presently breaking in a new pair of cement shoes at the bottom of the Ankh. The thieves guild was very strict about unauthorized, unlicensed thieving. 

“Given what you know about the situation _presently_ Your Grace, do you think you and your watchmen are up to the challenge?” Vetinari questioned, addressing him directly for the first time since the meeting had commenced. “One missing person and one set of ledgers,one guild charter.”

“Now Vetinari I object! The Watch? They are not-” Boggis began.

“Or. Perhaps.” Vetinari interjected. “Both of your guilds would prefer I send in my Clerk, Mr. Drumknott. I do believe both of your guilds are due for an audit of your accounts.” The Patrician paused, waiting for further protest from either the guild masters or the Commander of the Watch. “I do believe, Commander, you will have their full cooperation, so that this matter may be quickly resolved, to the satisfaction of all parties. Correct, gentlemen?” The two guild masters mumbled something in agreement. “Very good. That is all then. Don’t let me detain you.” Vetinari said, looking down at his paperwork and making a note with his pen.

They all rose, and the guild masters filed out wordlessly, although bickering could be heard just outside before the doors closed. Vimes stood, patiently waiting for the Patrician to address his gaze. “Something else, Commander?” Vetinari inquired, raising an eyebrow although not raising his eyes to look up at Vimes directly.

“They’re just ledger books, Sir.”

“Yes. Quite. So they should be easy enough for you to locate.” Vetinari replied dryly. “Or are you perhaps suggesting that this is somehow _below_ the Watch and what you deem worthy of their attention?” 

_No._ It wasn’t that at all. He was suggesting that this was guild business and that guild business wasn’t any business of the watch. 

“There is a man missing Commander. _That_ should be incentive enough for you to take this matter seriously I would think.”

“Yes, sir,” Vimes said crisply.

“Then I won’t keep you from the task at hand.” 

Vimes knew there was nothing else for it. He had a case and like it or not it intersected with certain guild interests. He filed out of the Rats' chamber and walked from the palace. His mind trying to digest the details of the case. And it had been a good day. He’d had his coffee, he was up to date on his paperwork, the Watch seemed to be running smoothly for once, and he’d managed to even get out of the house on time this morning. Now, this. One missing thief, and one set of missing Baker’s Guild ledgers and charter. Whatever the case, Vetinari had been a mood, that’s for sure. Funny that. The man generally didn’t care what the guilds did. This must be different somehow. 

Vimes shook his head. Didn’t matter now. Now they had a case, had a job to get done, and he would see it through to the end. Even if it did have to do with _guilds._

By the time he reached the yard, he had a plan of action. “Cheery. You, Angua, Carrot, Pessimal, my office, five minutes.” He ordered, sweeping through the bullpen and walking up the stairs to his office.

“So. The Patrician wants us to find _books_?” It was Angua who broke the silence first after he’d finished speaking, an obvious edge of disbelief and disgust in her voice.

“Ledgers.” Pessimal corrected. “What?” He asked as all eyes went to him. “There _is_ a difference.” 

“And there’s a missing citizen involved,” Carrot added helpfully. 

“Cheery, I want you and Angua to go to the Baker’s guild. Investigate the scene of the crime, see what you can find. Carrot and I will go to the thieves guild to get the suspect’s address.” Vimes instructed firmly. “Pessimal take a look at the tax office records for both guilds. The patrician has to keep tax records.”

The collected watchmen nodded, a weighty silence falling over them. “Begging your pardon Commander, but isn’t this strictly guild business?” Cheery asked.

_Why are we doing this?_ Was the Sergeant’s real question. 

“It is, but the patrician’s decided for the moment that it’s our business.”

“And Henri Mallard is missing,” Carrot interjected.

“Yes, that too.” Vimes agreed.“Let’s keep this mum. The last thing we need is De Worde and his people poking their noses into this.” 

The watchmen all nodded before Angua, Pessimal, and Cheery filed neatly from the office. Carrot stayed behind. “Permission to speak freely, Sir?” Carrot said formally.

“About the case, Captain?”

“Yes, sir.”

“It’s bothering you too, isn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.” 

Vimes paused. Vimes by his very nature and own description was a suspicious bastard. Anything to do with the guilds put him on edge, but if it was bothering Carrot, then something was really wrong. “Well go ahead, let’s hear it then.”

“Why would the Patrician want us to get involved in Guild business now?” Carrot asked. 

“He seemed to think they couldn’t handle it themselves.”

Carrot nodded ponderously. Vimes looked up at him, giving Carrot a moment to gather his thoughts. “Shall we go to the Thieve’s guild then, sir?” Carrot asked after a paused.

So that was it? Or was Carrot holding something back? Either was possible. Carrot wasn’t a naturally suspicious person, but he was incredibly observant, and Vimes was for anything that could possibly give him an inkling as to what the hell was going on. Particularly as it came to the Patrician breaking with over thirty years of guild/watch precedent. 

They walked as a group from the watch-house, up lower broadway across the brass bridge, Angua and Cheery turned Windershin toward the Baker’s Guild while he and Carrot peeled off Turnwise toward the thieves guild. Pausing, before they entered the gates of the guild house, Vimes looked around. The strange sensation that he was being watched prickling at the back of his neck.

He followed Carrot into the Thieve’s guild where they were immediately met by Vice Guild Master, Mr. Scam Likely, Thief third class.

“Ahh, Mr. Likely. Lovely to see you, how’s the family?”

Vimes glanced between Carrot who wore the expression of warm joviality and Mr. Likely who wore a slightly pinched and pained expression. “They are well Captain.” Likely said, glancing over at Vimes. “Your Grace. What can I do for you today? Mr. Boggis said you might be dropping by.” 

“Yes. What can you tell us about Henri Mallard?”

“Oh.” Likely frowned, taken aback. “Not much actually. Graduated from the guild with honors seven years ago. Scholarship Kid. Orphan. Was a little bit behind on his monthly quota, but nothing—”

“How much,” Vimes interjected.

“A few dollars?”

“Do you have an exact amount? It would be very useful to our inquiries.” Carrot said.

“We’d have it in his log book.”

“May we see it please?” 

Likely nodded, motioning for them to follow, lead them to a small office, lined floor to ceiling with filing cabinets. Removing a log book from an unmarked drawer, Likely extended it to Carrot who took it gingerly, and opened the front page. “We’re going to take this for our inquiries.” Likely opened his mouth in protest. “We’ll give you a receipt of course.” Carrot continued and Likely deflated, nodding solemnly. 

“Mr. Likely, remind me. Where was it you said Henri Mallard was staying?” Vimes asked, trying to take advantage of Likely’s flustered state.

Likely leveled his gaze, stiffening his spine. “I didn’t, your grace.”

“Ah. Pity that.”

“He was staying in the guild dormitory wasn’t it?” Carrot said, nose buried in the thief’s log book. 

“Yes.”

“Little unusual having a graduate staying in the dorm isn’t it?” Vimes pushed.

“He was enrolled in our postgraduate course.”

“Can we see his room please.” Carrot cut in, before handing Mr. Likely a slip of paper. “Your receipt sir.”

Likely sighed heavily, shoving the receipt in his pocket And nodded. “Very well, follow me. Though I can tell you he hasn’t been here for some time.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Logbook Sir. This will be very useful to our inquiries. Thank you very much Mr. Likely.” Carrot said happily, holding the log book reverentially in both hands.

The watchmen followed the thief though the guild house, and up into the dormitories. Much to Vimes’s surprise, it wasn’t a serpentine building with dark Smokey dins. Instead, it was a brightly lit, open, airy space. The better to keep an eye on one another, Vimes supposed.

They stopped outside a plain door, identical to the other twenty or so they’d already passed, and the thief removed a set of lock picks rather than a ring of keys. Vimes had to refrain from rolling his eyes. Well, set a thief to catch a thief as it were.

After a long moment, the door creaked open, and Vimes and Carrot leaned in to look through the now open doorway. Vimes immediately felt uneasy as something deeply unsettling unfolded before him. Vimes in his time had been to more than his fair share of crime scenes. Seen things that kept him awake at night. Gristly horrible things, a testament to the nature of evil and what it could accomplish. This room, however, was something different.

It was spotless.

Floor to ceiling the room was empty there wasn’t a speck of dust on the furniture or a scrap of paper in the waste bin. Sure there was stuff in it, a desk, a bed, a lamp, but Vimes could tell instantly that there would be no fingerprints or strands of hair or anything that might give them an inkling of where Mr. Mallard had gone or, as Vimes was beginning to suspect, had been taken. 

Vimes slowly entered the room, eyes scanning for anything that might be considered a clue. “Could you give us a minute Mr. Likely?” Carrot asked the thief after a moment. “If we need anything we’ll be sure to come to you directly.”

Vimes listened as the thief walked away. When his footsteps had more or less faded into the general noise of the guild house, Vimes walked over to the window and knelt down. Touching the oily substance on the floor brought his fingertips to his nose. “Mint oil.” He announced, glancing over his shoulder at Carrot.

“Means that they knew the Watch would be coming,” Carrot said cautiously sliding open the closet door. “I don’t think Mr. Mallard is living here.” He stepped back away from the closet. “Or if he was he isn’t anymore.”

Vimes rose and walked over to where the Captain was standing. The closet was empty. Or very nearly. There were three nearly identical outfits all in browns and grays, all worn and threadbare. Then at the very bottom of the closet was a pair of very shiny black leather boots, new or very near to it from what Vimes could tell from the condition of the soles.“Let’s have Sergeant Littlebottom give this place a once over. But I get the distinct feeling that Mr. Mallard won’t be returning here any time soon.”

“Yes, sir. Plus with the mint oil, there’s no way for us to know where they might have gone.”

Vimes had to hand it to whoever was behind this. They know what they were doing. This wasn’t just a missing person/ missing property case. This was something else. It was clean too clean.

“Stay here, I’ll send cheery over,” Vimes instructed, walking from the Thieves guild without another word.

Walking from the Thieve’s guild toward the Baker’s guild once again Vimes couldn’t shake the sensation that he was being watched.

Knocking on the front gate of the baker’s guild, he glanced around, looking for the eyes that were boring into him from an unknown vantage point. The gate opened, and a small round-faced man in a white apron appeared. “Commander Vimes.”

“Yes. That’s me.” Vimes said stepping through the gates, and couldn’t help but be slightly disappointed that the guild didn’t smell of flour or baking bread, or something to that effect. 

“Mr. Bran said you’d be in. Follow me please!”

“Vimes was led through the building and to a small office where Cheery was still working alone. “Had to send Angua for a lie-down. Someone dropped a mint oil bomb.” She explained.

“Same at the thieve’s guild. You find anything?”Vimes came and crouched down by the safe where Cheery was working.

“A clean job. No fingerprints, muddy boot prints, no fibers or hair, they didn’t even force the lock.” Cheery said wearily.

“So no clues at all then.” Vimes looked around the small office. “How sure are we that this isn’t an inside job?” The sergeant looked up at him, giving him a _look._ “You never know.” 

“This is true.” The dwarf nodded sagely. “Pessimal came by and took a statement from the bursar.” 

“Anything strike you as funny?” 

“No, sir.” Cheery shook her head packing up her bag.

“Well. Just keep digging. I need you to take a close look at the boots in the thief’s dorm room. Something isn’t lining up.” Vimes commented.

“Yes, sir. I’ll just pop over then.”

“See you back at the yard.”

Vimes rose, allowing the Sargent to pass before he looked around the small office. There had to be something. Anything. Anything that might give them a lead that could help them bust this case wide open. It should be open and shut. They had a receipt from the thieves guild and a name. It should be simple, clear cut. But it wasn’t. There was the empty dormitory but the new leather boots. The clean break in but the thieve’s guild receipt. There was the patrician assigning the watch this case when the watch wasn’t supposed to come within fifty yards of anything that might even remotely look like guild business.

He paused, walking over to the window, opened it and stuck his head out. Across the street was the fools guild and teacher’s guild, and next door the Guild of Merchants and allied trades. Beyond that was the Assassin’s guild. Yeah, but they’d never lowered themselves to get involved with the thieves guild. Vimes shook his head, withdrawing his body from the window and closing it behind him. 

Now, why had he thought that? Why even bother thinking about the assassins? Well. If the thieves were stealing from people who were paid up with the guild, then what was to stop assassins from killing people without the proper contract?The whole thing was rotten. Rotten to the core. Someone was going to a lot of trouble for one missing thief and some ledger books. Only. That wasn’t it at all. This wasn’t just about ledger books, it usually never was. He shook his head. Something wasn’t _right_ about this case,it was rotten, yes, but it stunk more than it should. There was nothing for it; he had to get to the bottom of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Vimes is on the case! Hope you had fun! Remember to comment, subscribe, or give kudos. Feedback is welcome and appreciated!


	3. Welcome to the League (We've Got Fun and Games)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The author would like to remind readers that this is a fanfic and that she is in no way profiting from the writing of such. Except for Kat, Sampson, and the lot at the moment. They're mine. This is terry's world, I'm just playing in it.

  Kat looked up and over Windershin’s Broadway, her sketchbook open across her lap. There she spotted the Commander and Sergeant Littlebottom walking back toward the Thieves’ guild house. Captain Angua had departed hastily from the Baker’s guild about thirty minutes ago. Kat paused as below the Commander stopped and looked around. Her stomach twisted like someone had stuck a knife there.  
So they’d found out. It had taken them nearly a week. She hadn’t assumed this little unauthorized theft of theirs would remain a secret for very long. However, the fact that the Commander...the Patrician’s terrier was on the case meant that something else was going on. There was more to this than just the ledger book. _What have you done Sarah Katherine, you big lousy idiot? S_ he silently scolded herself.  
The Commander shook his head and continued back toward the brass bridge while Sergeant continued to the Thieves’ guild house. Goosebumps raised on Kat’s skin. For a moment she could’ve sworn...sworn that he’d seen her.  
She shook her head. Now she was just being silly. She knew she was obscured from view. She knew no one on the ground could see her and yet...She could’ve sworn Vimes had seen her. That they’d made eye contact.  
No matter. It was irrelevant. All that mattered is that she was on the clock and she would have to act fast to protect herself. Which was another thing. Certainly the Patrician knew what was going on. Surely he was aware not just of what the league was up to, but also that she’d gotten herself unwittingly involved in this mess.  
Kat squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ease the pounding behind them. _Did he know? Certainly, she would know by now if he did._ He would’ve sent palace guards by now to haul her off and chuck her in a pit somewhere, likely filled with scorpions and sharp spikes if he did know.  
The invisible knife twisted again in her stomach. _He wouldn’t do that to me would he?_  
_Just go to him. Tell him what is going on. He’ll listen to you. He’s kind and generous and understanding. He’ll understand. He’s even-handed. He will make sure you’re treated fairly._ That was the student assassin talking. That was the side of her that had fine clothes, a comfortable home, food, an education, the best education money could buy in fact. It was the reasoning and assurance of someone with connections, money, and influence.  
_He won’t believe you. What reason does he have to believe you?_ That was the small frightened child that still resided inside of her head. The one that she’d hoped she’d gotten rid of. The one that she’d hoped time and care had slowly eased into oblivion. But the child of the shades, of Cockbill Street, would always be with her. That child, that person, that Ank-Morporkian knew that if she went to the patrician or even the watch, she would be blamed, or worse wouldn’t be believed at all. She had to have proof, evidence, fact that could be substantiated beyond the shadow of a doubt. The law wasn’t hers to wield like a shield, no it would be swung at her like a sword, and what hope would she have against it without considerable help?  
She was back, back in shades, back in the dark, damp little room she’d shared with her grandmother and mother. She would have to find her own way out of it. She couldn’t rely on the law or even on the patrician to save her. Not now anyway, she was in too deep.  
Kat rubbed her face, opening her eyes. It hadn’t come to that yet, and she couldn’t lose her nerve. At the end of the day that was all she had.  
_‘Damn, you thinkin’ like that still? ‘Ere? Afta all you been frew? Can take the gurl outta Cockbill street but cannae take Cockbill street out of the gurl aye?”_ She hadn’t had an accent like that when she’d left Cockbill street, but her granny had before dying. And now it was that voice. That hard, rough, wonderful voice that she heard. And it wasn’t wrong. You could take the girl out of Cockbill street, dress her like a student assassin, but the Cockbill would be there just underneath. Watching, waiting, preparing for when the other shoe dropped.  
That’s what was going to happen. The other shoe would drop. The patrician was going to find out find out and just like that she’d be out of the guild and back there, right where she started. He’d snatched her from the gutter. He was well within his rights to put her back where she belonged.  
Kat shook her head, closing her sketchbook. Now was not the time for a pity party. Now she had work to do.  
Kat climbed inside and sighed. “Yes, David? What do you want.” She asked closing the window.  
“Out on the roof drawing again are we?” He raised an eyebrow, a cheeky grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “I supposed it’s a good past time for a distinguished lady such as yourself.”  
Kat rolled her eyes, “You know that hasn’t worked for you since we were twelve, right Davie?” She set the sketchbook on her desk and turned to face him squarely. “What are you doing in my room? What do you want, David?” She rayed an eyebrow of her own.  
Davie looked around, lowering his voice. “The Baker’s Guild...they...they’ve gone to the watch...The watch has a werewolf, and if-” She clapped her hand over his mouth.  
“Are you crazy? Stop talking.” She hissed. “Do you want to die? I can certainly call up Mr. Trooper. I’m sure he’d be happy to oblige.” Her voice was a low sneer. “But don’t you dare lose your nerve and get both of us hanged when you were the one who dragged us into this into the first place.” She paused and cleared her throat. “Now.” Kat continued with more control in her voice. “What is it you want to talk about?”  
He glowered, “Watch yourself, Ainsley.” He hissed, shoving her hand away.  
“Or what? David?” She snapped.  
“You going tonight? Or have you lost your nerve?” David sneered.  
“I planned to go, same as you.” She answered. She didn’t want to go. The whole thing screamed of a trap. Get all of them in one place and kill them all before one of them lost their nerve. _That’s what I would do. It would be smarter than waiting for one of them to lose their nerve and go to the Watch._  
_What like you?_  
“You going to dress proper? Or is it trousers and dour looks for you as usual.”  
Kat rolled her eyes. “You’re being an ass. I will arrive appropriately dressed. I should ask if you plan to run your mouth like that while we’re at dinner.”  
“You’re one to talk.” Davie shot back. “Oh Sampson, I’ve read all your publications! Oh, Sampson, that’s so fascinating! Oh, Sampson!” He said in a mocking falsetto.  
“Are you jealous?”  
“Of the stuttering shadow?”  
“He’s a genius.”  
“Have a crush, Kitty Kat?”  
“Get out.” She ordered flatly. “You’re in a mood. I won’t be party to it. I’ll meet you downstairs tonight when the carriage comes for us at six sharp.”  
“You do have a crush.”  
“And you obviously have a complex Mr. Bacon.” She rolled her eyes. “Go. I have to get stuff ready for tonight. To make sure, as you so kindly put it, that I’m appropriately dressed.”  
Davie rolled his eyes but said nothing as he walked from her room.  
Kat shook her head, removing the glossy invitation from her waistcoat pocket, surveying it closely. It was bordered in black. Funny that, normally those were saved for funerals, but amongst assassins it was just one of the many signifiers of wealth and rank within the guild. George naturally decided to flout his wealth and status at every possible turn. It was because he was bastard, everyone knew he was. Conveniently he was a high born bastard, and so no one really commented on it. Or at least not openly. Which might account for how he’d turned out.  
She shook her head again, shoving the card back in her pocket, went to the closet and removed the dress and slippers she’d picked out for the occasion. They were being officially inducted into the league or, Kat thought darkly, they were being done away with. It really just depended on your point of view. She surveyed the dress. It was a grey-black dress in silk taffeta, and in the light it had undertones of blues and greens and purples. It would work for the occasion.  
Kat frowned. Her stomach still twisting in knots, thoughts drifted back to Davie. _What have you gotten us into?_ But that was always the way of it, wasn’t it?  
Davie however, was one of her only friends, so he was someone she would continue to stick up for and would get herself into all kinds of mischief and trouble for.  
Kat sighed. Recently he’d been acting funny. It was probably the stress of the whole league situation and the upcoming exams. She paused, a wry smile cracking her expression momentarily _If we’re here to take them after all this._ The bigger and frankly frightened side of her bit out.  
There was a knock at the door, and Kat crossed the room to open it. There was a small girl, probably a second or third-year student at the door with a letter. “Ma’am” She curtsied extending the letter to her.  
“Thank you.” Kat took it and paused. “You’re Bethany Myers, right?”  
The girl looked momentarily taken aback, “Yes Miss.”  
“Scholarship kid right?”  
“Yes, Miss.”  
She was tiny, the signs of recent malnutrition lingering on her expression. Kat would recognize it anywhere. “Would you like a pocket peppermint Miss Myers?”  
Her eyes lit up. “Yes, ma’am.”  
Kat gave her a peppermint sweet and sent her on her way. She then opened the note. A summons from Miss Band.  
“Damn,” Kat swore. The headmistress knew she had to know.  
Adjusting her cloak, and fixing her hair Kat headed out the door and up to Miss Band’s office. Kat knocked holding her breath.  
“Oh Miss Ainsley, don’t be so dramatic, come in.” Miss Band ordered.  
Kat entered, and Miss Band was sitting at her desk, still buried under paperwork. She still, despite everything, looked unflappable, her hair pulled up in a tight bun, her nails long, well manicured, and painted a blood red.  
“You wanted to speak to me, headmistress?”  
“Yes, please, take a seat.” She waved Kat into a chair.  
There was then a long silence as the older woman surveyed her. “How is your exam preparation proceeding?”  
“Very well...rather as good as can be expected. Preparing for all possibilities.”  
“Of course.” Miss Band nodded, “As you well know there are many opportunities for individuals with your skill set around the Disc. Lord Downey asked me to invite a number of prospective graduates to join him for tea. A number of our alumni will be present of course.” She slid a gold foiled card across the desk. “You can make it I’ll assume.”  
“I will clear my schedule,” Kat replied, taking the card without looking at it.  
“Your _friend_ David is not invited if you follow me.”  
“Yes, ma’am.” She nodded.  
Band shook her head. “I never will understand why a bright young lady such as yourself would remain friends with someone like David Cameron Bacon.” She returned to her paperwork. “You may go.”  
Kat departed without a word. “I ask that myself sometimes,” Kat mumbled as she emerged back out into the hall.  
She’d given it some serious consideration and had come to the following conclusion. It was because they were both nobodies within the guild. Life in the assassin’s guild was all about rank and distinction. You might be faded aristocracy but you knew who your great-great-granddad was and that counted. That mattered. It was why you were an assassin and not a thief or a beggar or plying a less illustrious trade. Which was perhaps why she and Davie got on so well. Misfits in their own right. David was a scholarship kid and she...well she didn’t have a proper sir name and was not going to broadcast who her legal guardians happened to be. It only had the potential to win you fake friends and even more enemies. How exactly the Patrician and Madame had managed to conceal her identity or rather the identity of her guardians was quite beyond her, but she was glad for it. It was also fortunate that Davie didn’t ask many questions.  
Perhaps that’s what had gotten them into this mess. Davie didn’t ask enough questions. And Kat for her part was happy to follow along because he was her friend. _And it very well might be my undoing too._ It was a gristly thought, but it was something that she had to contemplate. _If it came down to one of them..._ She’d rather hoped it wouldn’t ever come to that.  
Kat whiled away the rest of the morning and afternoon with reading and exam preparations, and soon enough six o’clock sharp rolled around and Kat found herself at a large banquet table in the home of George Illabacker, squished between Davie and Lars Dickinson, watching a group of boys snicker behind their hands at Sampson Ivers. There were ten people at the table. All a little older than her. She knew some of them, fellow assassins and a few thieves. George was noticeably absent, and there was another man, one she hadn’t been introduced to that was missing tonight as well. However, that was more than made up for by the others who occupied the rest of the table, all of them were focused on the scene now taking place before them.  
One of them, a boy named Dimitri Fedorova, was talking to Sampson. Asking him, what on the surface seemed like very mundane questions, but the longer Kat listened, the more she noticed the pattern.  
_Those bastards._ They were asking questions that would draw out his stutter. Not that it took much. But the snickering behind the hands told Kat all that she needed to know.  
“What? Do you have a question, Miss Ainsley?” Dimitri asked. “Since you know so much about Mr. Iver’s work.” He grinned devilishly.  
They wanted to know if she was going to play along. Or if she was going to protest and make a scene. She should keep her mouth shut. Keep her head down. Avoid drawing unwanted attention to herself.  
“Yeah. I’m sure you have plenty of questions for the s-s-s-s-st-stuttering s-sh-sh-sh-sha-sha-shadow.” Johnny Beacow, apprentice thief, laughed. This was greeted by a round of raucous laughter from the table's occupants.  
Kat felt her grip on her dinner knife tighten. “I don’t know. Mr. Ivers. Tell me. What are the ethical implications of stabbing Mr. Beacow and Mr. Fedorova with this knife compared to using my forks as projectiles to impale them both? I have now given them both warning, so therefore any use of a projectile should not come as a surprise.” She said shortly, through clenched teeth, her voice low.  
“We were just having a bit of fun, no need to get your knickers all in a bunch.” Johnny tried to laugh lightly.  
“So you’re volunteering, I see.” Kat rose abruptly, nearly upturning her wine glass and plate in the process.  
“Kat.” Davie caught her by the elbow, his voice low and grave. “They aren’t worth it.”  
There was a low ooooh that went around the table, and Kat knew that anything she did would now be played off for nothing but laughs, at her expense. She pulled her arm from Davie’s grasp and delicately set the knife down. “You’re not worth the blood stains.” She sat back down.  
Sampson wouldn’t make eye contact with her while Davie wouldn’t stop watching her every move. As if he was nervous she was going to lunge across the table and throttle them with her bare hands. The thought had occurred, but the sentiment remained, it wouldn’t be worth the stains.  
Mercifully dinner ended without further incident, and they all retired to the large parlor and billiard room down the hall. “I’m going to play poker, you going to join?” Davie asked.  
“No. No. I’m going to get some fresh air, by the window.” She answered, unhooking her arm from his.  
“Would you like me to accompany you?” Davie questioned.  
“I’m fine, but thank you.” She smiled.  
“Alright, suit yourself.” He shrugged, going to join the others gathered around the card table.  
Kat slipped away to an armchair tucked in the corner, near two large windows. The night was cool and gave some relief to the red hot anger that flushed her face.  
“You k-k-know you di-didn’t have to do-do that,” Sampson said, appearing at her side as though he’d just materialized there.  
“Mr. Ivers.” Kat gasped, clutching her chest. “I’m afraid I didn’t hear you approach.”  
“M-m-my apologies M-m-miss Ainsley.” He nodded. Removing his glasses, he wiped the lenses absently with his handkerchief.  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t catch what you said.” She commented, glancing around the room. George had mysteriously disappeared.  
“I said, you don’t have to do-do-do that.”  
“Do what?” Kat furrowed her brow.  
“It really d-d-doesn’t bother me.” He went on. “I really rather wi-wi-wished you hadn’t.”  
“Oh.” Realization hit, and her shoulders sagged, “I thought...I didn’t mean...I just...”  
“I appreciate the thought, M-miss Ainsley, but it’s really nothing I can’t handle. No need to m-make an issue of it.” He put his glasses back on adjusting them slightly.  
Kat nodded, “Of course, my apologies Mr. Ivers.” She clasped her hands together, clinching them tight. Kat wanted to punch something. Sampson was a genius, as she’d gathered from his various publications, and was one of the League’s intelligence officers, and yet they treated him like garbage. It was unfair. S _ome brotherhood._ She thought spitefully.  
“You friend is rather protective of you,” Sampson commented, motioning to the card table with his chin.  
Kat looked up just in time to see Davie look away. She rolled her eyes but said nothing.  
“A st-stor-story or two I’d imagine.” He said.  
“You have no idea.” Kat tried a smile, but it felt like a grimace. The whole evening was turning into one disaster after another, and she just wanted to go home, take off this uncomfortable dress, burn the shoes cutting into her toes, and murder whoever thought fancy dinner parties should ever be a thing. She wouldn’t even wait to be paid on that one.  
Mercifully one of the side doors opened, and the parlor went silent as George entered, everyone rising reverentially to their feet. “I’m afraid our most gracious benefactor is unable to join us this evening. However, he does inform me that he wishes to speak to a number of you personally, to congratulate you on joining our brotherhood.” He paused, watching as the waiters began to file into the room with glasses of champagne. He grabbed a glass with one hand and smoothed back his mass of chestnut curls away from his eyes with the other.  
As a waiter walked by where Kat and Sampson were standing, Sampson attempted to grab two glasses, but only succeeded in bringing the whole tray down with a large clatter.  
Kat winced, stepping out of the way as a barrage of maids came swooping in to clear up the mess as Sampson stuttered and stammered his apologies with all eyes in the room on them. Finally, when the commotion, and snickering, died down and everyone had a glass to toast with, George proceeded, “We aren’t going to muck about with oaths or decrees of loyalty. Through your actions over past months each of you has earned your place in this brotherhood.” He paused. “To working in the shadows to serve the light,” George said raising his glass high.  
“May we transform the darkness.” The room echoed.  
Kat had to keep herself from gagging.  
It is a fact well known throughout the multiverse that those in certain lines of work have limited imagination. While this proclivity for lack of creatively has normally been attributed to accountants, lawyers, and trench diggers, they generally overlook assassins, thieves, and other lawbreakers. Although they are clever enough when it comes to their own profession, they lack imagination when it comes to naming things. Which is why throughout the many universes where crime is organized, and evil men flock together they generally come up with names such as” the Rogues Gallery, Brotherhood of Evil, Dark Nemesis, Injustice League, Masters of Evil, and League of Super Evil.” Which is why in Ankh-Morpork the best a few scheming assassins and assorted thieves could come up with was the League of Shadows. The logic of it was they were a League, and they lurked in the shadows, so the name stuck and they continued with their plotting. So, therefore, it followed that they would be equally uncreative with any sort of speech making, slogan writing, or branding of any kind. It still didn’t make any of it more palatable.  
She took a sip from her glass, and then immediately poured the rest of it into the potted plant behind her.  
“Not a fan?” Kat looked up to see Sampson watching her.  
“No. Not particularly. I come from a family of alcoholics and moral degenerates, I’d rather not risk it.” She said, watching Sampson’s expression carefully.  
“Oh. Oh, I see.” He looked down, uncertain of what else to say.  
“I’m joking. The bubbles make my stomach queasy,” Kat laughed. It was the only thing she could do. It wasn’t a lie, on either account, but it also wasn’t the truth of it either, Kat knew that if they were going to be poisoned a slow, steady dose would be preferable to one large enough to be immediately lethal. She’d already eaten the food, she wasn’t going to risk anything else. “So I heard George mention you’re from Howondaland.”  
“Yes. M-my-my parents d-d-died wh-wh-when I was young, I came to Ankh-M-m-Morpork to live wi-with my aunt until I s-s-started with the g-g-g-g.” He paused, drained his glass took a deep breath and continued, “guild.” He swallowed hard, “And you?”  
“Much of the same, but I’m an Ankh-Morpork girl through and through.” She answered, but she found her eyes had been drawn away to a man walking around the room. He was going from group to group, sitting and listening to their conversations. “Sampson, who is that man?” Kat questioned.  
Following her gaze, Sampson said, “Oh,” in a low voice.  
As if sensing their eyes upon him the man tuned, cracked a wry smile, and nodded. Sampson nodded back, and the duo had a silent conversation that Kat couldn’t decipher.  
He was a tall, slender man with a full beard and mustache, his hair was slicked back, and he had bright piercing eyes, that surveyed her as carefully as she studied him. She’d been to many of George’s dinner parties but had never seen him before. Not until tonight. “Might I join you?” He inquired approaching them.  
“Of course.” She glanced over at Sampson. “By your leave, of course, Mr. Ivers.”  
Sampson nodded and the man sunk down onto one the plush armchairs. “Please. Sit. I trust dinner was to your satisfaction.” He said, waving them into the chairs across from them.  
“Everything was excellent. George is a splendid host.” She said dutifully, sitting down, spread her skirts flat, before folding her hands in her lap.  
“Good. I’m glad you find Mr. Illabacker to your liking.” He said with a smirk.  
Kat said nothing, trying to absorb every last detail of the stranger now sitting across from her. He was an assassin. He wasn’t dressed in the stylish, expensive black that assassins so often wore, but she could tell. He wore a stygium signet ring and his boots, while well worn, had special soles used almost exclusively by assassins. She’d seen enough of Vetinari’s boots, and the boots of other assassin’s to know the specialty sole when she saw them. “What do you make of me Miss Ainsley?”  
“Very little sir.” She answered honestly.  
The man cracked a small wicked smile, pulling a pack of cards from the inner pocket of his waistcoat. “You don’t mind if I?” He motioned to the cards.  
“Are you going to perform a card trick, sir?” She asked coyly.  
“I have some acquaintances within your guild that tell me you have a very good memory. Your instructors are very impressed.” He said as he began to shuffle the deck. “Mr. Bacon, who recruited you initially if I’m not mistaken, has mentioned in passing that you’re a fair artist.” He glanced up at Kat as if expecting her to say something.  
She did indeed have a good memory. Near iconographic. Something she’d discovered when she was very little, and that the patrician and Madame had helped her cultivate over the years. What her drawing had to do with anything she didn’t exactly know. “I’m flattered, sir, but with all due respect I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”  
“Mr. Ivers, supply Miss Ainsley with a pencil and paper.” He instructed firmly.  
Sampson produced both items from his waistcoat pocket, and Kat took them from him wordlessly. “I assume you’ve played cards before.” He said with a sugary sarcasm that could’ve made teeth rot.  
“A time or two yes.” She nodded, watching him manipulate the cards. It was a familiar motion. A motion that she had seen hundreds of times on the streets of Ankh-Morpork. She looked up at his face and then back down at his hands. _He’s a card sharp. He’s going to misdirect me. Trying to distract me from what’s really going on._  
“How many servers were there at dinner tonight.”  
“Eight.”  
“And centerpieces on the table.”  
“Three.”  
“What about the portrait in the hall outside, the big one as you left the dining room to go to the parlor.”  
“A family portrait of George Illabacker and his mother.”  
“What about in the dining room? The large painting. Above the fireplace? Who is in that one?”  
“No one, sir.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“Well yes sir, I mean no sir. It’s a hunting scene. Five horses with five riders of unremarkable description, fifteen dogs, two unfortunate foxes.” She said.  
“Unfortunate foxes?” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying that you feel sorry for the quarry Miss Ainsley?”  
“Well.” Kat hesitated. “I wouldn’t say I feel sorry for the quarry, my lord. Just simply that I have a soft spot for the underdog.”  
This answer seemed to satisfy him, and he nodded with a smug grin. “Draw the king of hearts from the deck I’ve just been shuffling.”  
“What?” She blanched.  
“You’ve been watching me shuffle these cards for a good two, three minutes Miss Ainsley.” He said. “Draw the King of Hearts. You have two minutes.”  
She’d played cards frequently, and knew what the king of hearts looked like, but this was a test. An audition. There was a catch. Kat paused. Focusing on what she remembered seeing, smiled. Putting pencil to paper, she worked furiously.  
“Time.” He said flatly. And Kat handed him the notepad.  
“You drew me an impressive duplicate of the King of diamonds. But I did say King of Hearts Miss Ainsley.” He said.  
“There isn’t a king of Hearts in that desk.” She said.  
“Oh?”  
“It’s a forced deck.”  
At this he smiled, nodding, he lay the deck down face up on the small table between them. Sure enough, it was a deck comprised entirely of King of Diamonds. He set her sketch down beside the deck. “Not a bad likeness. You did get his nose wrong.”  
Kat glanced between the card and her sketch, “It’s a crude drawing, comparatively, given more time I might have produced something closer to the original.” She said. She could hear Vetinari's voice as she spoke, the dissatisfaction at mediocrity. He’d never directed such scorn at her, but the way she’d said it was so palpable that she could almost taste the disdain.  
“I’m sure you could.” He nodded, but his attention was on Sampson Ivers who nodded in response. “Lovely to make your acquaintance, Miss Ainsley. Enjoy the rest of your evening.” He scooped up the cards and her drawing before rising and walking away toward a different cluster of people.  
Kat cracked a winning smile at Sampson even as she felt her stomach turn. Her body felt like it was thrumming like the string on a harp and her eyes darted around the parlor looking for clues to explain what had just taken place. Everything about that interaction just felt _wrong._ “Excuse me.” She rose, nearly staggering to her feet and started out into the hallway. Her face felt flushed, her hands were shaking, her stomach twisting, the air she breathed felt sticky and warm in her lungs sticking in her throat.  
“Miss Ainsley?”  
Kat turned to find that Sampson had followed silently after her and was now surveying her through his thick round glasses, his eyes once again obscured in the lamplight. A shadow indeed. “Mr. Ivers.” She stammered.  
“Are you unwell?” He asked earnestly. “Sh-sh-should I fetch a d-do-doctor?”  
“Yes. I mean no.” Kat rushed, all of a sudden feeling inexplicably close to tears. “I think I need to go home for a lie-down.”  
“I will find a carriage to return you to the g-guild house,” Sampson said extending his arm to her, she took it gently, and he helped her toward the entryway.  
Collecting her cloak, they waited out front under the awning of the front stoop for the coach in silence. “I am sorry about earlier,” Kat said weakly after a moment.  
At this Sampson paused. He looked like he was about to say something when the carriage pulled up. Kat climbed in without a word while Sampson gave the driver instructions. “G-go-good evening Mi-miss Ainsley,” Sampson said, moving to close the door.  
Kat exhaled a long shaking breath watching as Sampson returned inside and George’s house disappeared in the distance. Slowly but surely she was sinking deeper into the mire she’d gotten herself into.  
Everything about the entire evening made her skin crawl and her stomach turn. From the mystery assassin card sharp to the absent face at the table to her interaction with Sampson. Wrong. All of it.  
Her stomach had been more prone to upset as of late. Perhaps they were slowly being poisoned by the League. Maybe she was just coming down with something. Or it was this her body’s way of alerting her to danger? She knew she was in trouble. She was in deep, deep trouble with no way out. She squeezed her eyes shut. She wanted to talk to the Patrician. He would know what to do. He always knew what to do. But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she had enough evidence to absolve  herself. Until then, she’d have to keep her head down and keep a watchful eye out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thought! Comments, Kudos, and feedback always welcome!
> 
> GNU Terry Pratchett


	4. Errands and Assignments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The writer would like to remind everyone that what belong to Terry Pritchett belongs to him and what belongs to me, belongs to me. This is Terry’s world, I’m just playing in it. 
> 
> Also! I would like to apologize for the long gap since updating. It’s been crazy on my end. I do hope as the semester ends to be able to post more regularly!
> 
> GNU Terry Pratchett

_So what am I going to do about this league business?_ That had been the question occupying most of Kat’s waking thoughts, and some of her non-waking ones as well, since she’d left the induction ceremony reception thing. Strange that. She’d been expecting blood pacts and secret chants, the cornerstones of secret societies, but instead, she’d just watched Sampson Ivers get bullied and then she’d been unceremoniously interrogated by a card sharp. _Some brotherhood._ The whole thing left a bad taste in her mouth. Well, more of a bad taste in her mouth. She’d known the league was bad business for a while, but now that she was ‘in’ it was going to be all the harder to get ‘out,’ while maintaining some semblance of being alive. Now there was a set of uncertain paths before her. Do nothing, go to the Patrician, or find a way to bring down the league before she was tasked with doing something nefarious. _Or more nefarious rather._ To top it off, she couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had been missing, someone that had been lurking in the background of the group since she’d first been brought into the league was missing at last night’s meeting. She closed her eyes, trying to focus but found that the individual was just out of her field of vision. Lurking in the dark corners and shadows of her memory.

“Where have you been?”

Kat opened her eyes and looked up and over her morning newspaper at Davie who had plopped down across the breakfast table from her. “Exam prep.” She shrugged, returning to her crossword puzzle. It wasn’t technically a lie. She had been buried to her eyeballs in old dusty tomes. She’d just been trying to avoid anything league related until she could get her head on straight. It wasn’t exactly working, but it wasn’t like she could tell him that. “How’s your’s going?”

He made a noncommittal gesture and equally ambiguous noise.

“Let me know if you want to study together.”

“Does it matter?”

She knew what he meant. She _wished_ she didn’t know what he was talking about. Kat sighed, folding her newspaper. She needed air, she needed time to think and clear her head. She needed to not be around the stuffy books and equally stuffy people at least for a little bit.

“Where are you going?” Davie questioned as Kat rose from the breakfast table.

“I’m going for a walk,” she answered flatly.

“May I come with you?”

She cringed internally. She wanted to be alone, but there was absolutely no reason for her to say no, she wasn’t doing anything secretive, but Davie was loud, and was only going to make her head even more muddled. However, if she outright told Davie no it would raise suspicions and she couldn’t risk it at the moment.

“You can come but it’ll be boring for you.” Kat shrugged, pardoning herself from the table. Davie followed behind her as she went down the hall and diverted into the guild’s kitchens. They were massive and had been fitted with black marble and black steel, giving the place the look of a mausoleum rather than a kitchen.

“Ahh Miss Katherine.” The chef bowed as he approached them. “I was wondering when you were going to come see me again.”

“I’m sorry Mario, I’ve been a little busy.” She explained quickly, ignoring Davie’s expression of bewilderment just out of the corner of her eye.

“I knew you would be by sooner or later so I held onto everything for you. Tell the kiddos hello.”

“You know I will.” Kat smiled as Mario handed her a large package. “Have a good day.” She waved to the chef as they left, Davie still trailing along behind her.

They went through the kitchen and were out of the assassin’s guild before Davie spoke.

“What are you doing?” Davie questioned as they headed Rimward leaving filigree street behind them and entering some of the more ‘disreputable’ parts of Ankh-Morpork.

“Cockbill Street.”

He wrinkled his nose in clear disgust.

“I take food once or twice a week.” She continued, her palms itching to smack that expression clean off his face. But it wouldn’t do.

“Why?” Davie asked incredulous.

“Because there are starving children in the Shades and the guild is incredibly wasteful with how much food they toss out,” Kat replied, adjusting the sack on her shoulder.

“And you took it upon yourself you do this did you?” He questioned, the tone was nearly a sneer. “What? You still have family or something down there or something?”

“You know, don’t have to come with me, Davie.” She replied shortly.

“Well do you?”

“No. I don’t.”

“Then why bother? You don’t owe these people anything.”

She ignored that comment. He wouldn’t get it even if she explained. He might have grown up the son of a pig farmer, but he’d never gone hungry. He didn’t know what it meant to have to wrap rags on your feet for shoes so you didn’t leave bloody footprints in the snow. She’d seen more than her fair share of frozen bodies, children and babies and the old, who hadn’t had enough fuel or shelter to keep warm.

Kat twisted and turned and wound through the narrow streets, Davie at her heels grumbling. They turned from Chittling Street onto Cockbill. Over the sounds of the street could hear children playing hopscotch and Double Dutch. Kat entered an alley and a group of about ten children rushed at them. “Watch your pockets.” She warned.

“Miss Katherine! Miss Katherine!” They shouted as they rushed forth.

Kat opened the large sack and began distributing smaller packages from inside. Once those were gone she gave out her small change and pocket peppermints, chatting with the assembled group. In her periphery Kat could see the grannies hovering, waiting for Kat to make a false move. Then she would be in for it. She didn’t blame them for being protective. Her own grandmother, when she was alive, had been overprotective, particularly when it comes to outsiders. It didn’t help Kat’s case that She was a Student Assassin, nearly the ultimate outsider to these people.Why would she be mingling with good honest folk like them? _Oh, Cockbill Street._

When Kat had distributed everything the children dispersed. A couple of the usuals were missing, Kat couldn’t help but notice, but dared not ask. She knew better than that. “If you keep coming back they will expect it, they won’t be grateful.” Davie hissed.

Kat said nothing, thinking of the caches of food she’d kept under her bed at Psudopolis and then even once she’d joined the guild. The servants would find it and throw it away. So she’d become creative about where and how to store food. Figured out what was best to save and how long it would keep. No these Cockbill Street kids had no illusions about where and when their next meal might come. He wouldn’t understand that, as it was she hardly understood. It wasn’t so much a rational thought as an impulse, something that had stuck with her despite how high she had climbed. _You could wind back up where they found you. Are you prepared for that Sarah-Katherine? The higher you climb the further you have to fall, are you prepared for the consequences of your actions?_

“Are you ready to go?” She inquired, watching Davie squirm as children crowded him. “Alex!” She grabbed a tiny hand and pulled Davie’s wallet from it. “That’s not very polite.” She removed the cash, identification cards and handed the boy known as Alex the empty wallet. “And.” She halved the cash and handed it to him.

Davie open and closed his mouth like a goldfish on a carpet. Kat shoved everything else in her inner waistcoat pocket. “Be sneaker next time Alex.”

“Ma’am.” The filthy child touched his forelock before rushing back into the crowd.

“Come on David.” Kat took his arm and started walking Hubbard back toward the guild house.

“You! You! How-How!”

“I told you to watch your pockets.”

“Why did you give him my wallet and allowance?”

“I’ll get it back. The wallet I mean.” She said.

“How? That little brat is just going to go home and eat it!”

Kat rolled her eyes. “He’s going to sell it. It’ll feed his family for a week. I know the places he’s likely to sell it, I’ll get it back, if it means that much to you.”

“And my money?”

“Here.” She removed the cash from her pocket and shoved it into his hands. “I’ll get you the rest, let’s go to the bank.” Kat quickened her pace. She was angry. he didn’t know what he was saying or why it was so damn...damn...Kat couldn’t even enunciate it. It was just rude. His weekly allowance was more than most made in two months. Couldn’t he see it? How privileged and spoiled he was? Yes, he’d had it harder than most at the guild, but he and the rest of the lot couldn’t imagine what it meant to be from Cockbill street. What it meant to be not just poor, but dirt poor.

Kat charged through the city and to the bank, Davie calling after her.It was only when they reached the Bank lobby that he was able to catch up to her. “Hey! Oye! What’s your problem?” He grabbed her arm and jerked her around to face him.

“I need to get your money back to you Davie.” She sneered.

“What’s your problem Kitten? You’ve been nothing but a...but a..”

“You have two options David Cameron Bacon,” Kat interrupted her voice low. “Finish your thought and I box your ears, or you shut up and I don’t lay hands on you.”

“Mr. Bacon, M-mi-miss Ainsley.”

They both stopped and turned to see Sampson standing a few feet away, glancing back and forth between them like he was watching a foot-the-ball match. “Mr. Ivers, How can I help you?” She asked, jerking her arm away from Davie.

“If you could sp-sp-spare a m-mo-moment, Miss Ainsley,” Sampson said, glancing at Davie meaningfully.

“Oh. Of course. Once I’ve concluded my business here I’ll be in the library, studying.” She said shortly, ignoring the inquisitive edging on irritated looks Davie was leveling at them.

“Ma-ma-marvelous.” Sampson nodded. “Go-go-good da-da-day to you b-b-b-b-b-both.” He tipped his hat and exited the bank.

“Good day.”

Davie mumbled something approximating a farewell, watching the man as he went. Once Sampson was out of sight he muttered something unsavory.

“You’re my friend David, but you’re being a tit.” She snapped, before stepping up to the next available teller.

She ended up pulling out twice as much as she’d given the boy and shoved it vaguely in Davie’s direction as she walked purposefully from the bank back toward the assassins guild house.

Kat had known this was going to happen, that Davie wouldn’t understand why she was doing what she was doing. She might have even enjoyed her morning, but no the little twat had been nosy.

She took the stairs up to the library two at a time, avoiding the false panels and pressure activated blades that the stairway at the Assassin’s guild was known for, and entered the library, walking nearly blindly to her normal alcove. Kat stopped when she found Sampson Ivers already sitting comfortably at a table across from her customary spot, a large dusty tome sitting open in front of him which he surveyed carefully.

“Thank you for joining me.” He said flatly, without looking up.

“My pleasure.”

“Trouble at the ba-ba-bank?”

“No.” Kat shook her head. “No more than usual.” She amended watching as Davie drifted into view.

Sampson glanced up, following Kat’s gaze. “And your friend?” He raised an eyebrow.

Kat sighed. “He’s a twat.” She answered.

“Brotherhood, huh?” There was something that resembled the faintest hint of a smirk that momentarily passed over his face.

Kat rolled her eyes and nodded, “He’s harmless but can be a little bit of a...” She faded off.

“A twat, so you said.”

She cracked a small hesitant smile. Before clearing her throat and glancing around. She should be put off by the fact that Sampson knew that this was her favorite study alcove, or that she preferred the chair facing away from the windows. It should bother her, but it didn’t, which within itself was troubling. Sampson, despite his meek and timid appearance, was one of the top intelligence officers in the League. It was his job to know what she was up to, which meant if she wanted to get away with anything concerning the League she’d have to sneak it past Sampson first.

Kat glanced down at the massive tome Sampson had apparently dragged out of the Assassin’s guild library. It was an architecture book, and from the amount of dust looked like it hadn’t been touched, never mind used in years. Dust swirled around them and stuck in their hair as he flipped the pages. Stopping he cleared his throat, tapping on a spot on the page. “Blueprints, five locations. B-b-ank, po-post office, Tanty, Pa-pa-lace grounds, Tanty, and Ps-psudopolis yard. Reproductions in two weeks after the assignment is completed.” He said so softly that Kat had to strain to hear him. “Understood?”

“Understood.” Her stomach twisted. She was being given an assignment. The league wanted her to look at blueprints for the most important buildings in the city and make a reproduction. _So that’s what that had been about. Draw a card._ She would’ve scoffed, but Sampson was still talking.

“Enter here, five mi-mi-minutes between guard rotations.” He tapped on a window facing Turnwise Broadway. It meant she’d have relative cover.

Kat nodded again.

“Repeat instructions.”

“Blueprints. Bank, post office, palace, Tanty, Psudolois yard. Reproductions in two weeks ” She repeated. “When?”

“Two nights. New mo-moon.”

“Midnight guard change?“

He nodded.

“Day time would be easier. They’re less....on edge during the day.” She’d know, she’d snuck in and out of the place, even managed to get up on the roof before anyone had been alerted to her presence. Sampson gave her a strange look. “Midnight is fine.”

“Questions, M-miss Ainsley?” He inquired tilting his head.

“No. You’ve made your instructions clear, Mr. Ivers.” She answered. This was awful and yet the old familiarly thrill of danger of intrigue of the challenge. Kat turned her attention to Sampson who was surveying her with a critical eye.

He rose, closing the book. “Have a go-good good afternoon Miss Ainsley.”

“Going so soon?”

“Yes.” He paused. “I do believe you have somewhere to be.”

“What?”

“Lord Dow-Dow-Downey's party?”

Kat felt the blood seep from her face. She’d completely forgotten. Headmistress Band would be livid if she didn’t show up or worse was late.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” He nodded.

 _Damn! Damn! Damn!_ Kat rose and rushed from the library past Davie and to her room. Plotting would have to wait, she had a tea party to attend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little more world building! Vimes and Sybil, and Downey next chapter!!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Wasn't that fun? Don't worry, Vimes and the gang will show up in the next chapter. This is just a bit of set up.
> 
> Let me know what you thought!
> 
> GNU Terry Pratchett


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